The Hunt

Chapter Six

Being on a different pack's land felt wrong to me, especially when I didn't exactly feel welcomed in the first place.

Running alone with Mason felt a bit more comfortable. I wasn't worried about the pack joining up and rebelling against what we were here to do.

I felt safe with him as we explored the new lands. I would have gotten lost without him. It was a good thing that he had a good sense of direction. I, however, did not.

Mason didn't seem as lost as I was, but he had been here before. That was something I still had to figure out. When had he been here? Why did he visit this pack? How well did he know the pack? He was very familiar with the lands. How long had he stayed here?

I suppose it didn't really matter, but I was still curious.

We ran up a hill that felt more like a mountain, but wasn't high enough to be considered one. I could hear running water in the distance, which didn't surprise me. With all of this vegetation around, there had to be a lot of streams and a few lakes in the area. That was the only way they could all survive.

We ran for an hour before taking a break. I closed my eyes and drifted off to the sounds of a stream. We weren't right next to it because Mason didn't like to be exposed when we were alone. He was always so cautious with me. We were under a bush, hidden from anyone that might be out looking for a victim.

Mason bumped me off of him. He jerked his head in the direction of the stream. I got off of him and stretched as I stood up.

We were going to go check something out. After a couple of steps, my ears started working. I could hear voices, three of them, having a casual conversation.

Creeping out, following Mason as quietly as I could, we spied on the men.

They smelled of stag urine, but they were human. They had the rifles to prove it.

If we were caught spying on them, we would be shot at. We didn't need that right now. Mason flicked his tail at me when I tried to get closer. We were in a great spot; he didn't want us to attract any attention.

The three men were in camouflage clothing. Their pants were heavy and thick. Their jackets were thrown on a log, next to their propped up rifles. Their shirts were the good kind that looked like the backdrop of a forest.

These guys were seasoned hunters. They could've used a good dip in the water to rid themselves of their stench.

Mason huffed at me, and I shrunk down again. I hadn't realized that I had risen up to get a better view of the men. I didn't often see hunters, there had been none in Los Angeles and there are none on our pack lands. This was new to me, a learning experience.

No playing with the hunters, his wolf's voice rumbled in my head. It wasn't often that he spoke to me through pack bonds when we were wolves, his wolf made him more antisocial than normal. We don't need the community out hunting for wolves right now.

We mostly communicated with our weird werewolf body language, which consisted mostly of head bobs and growls.

He was right though, we didn't need the problems that would come from a community looking for rabid wolves encroaching on the town lines. That would be a headache. Pack members would be put in unnecessary danger.

Maybe if we ever found some hunters on our land we could scare the hell out of them. At home, the land was considered private property and a refugee for the wild wolf pack. Our lands had been chosen carefully. Even the real wolves didn't bother us much.